I never did learn to play the sitar
March 14, 2012Second grade was the year that began with Obsession, and ended with Neurosis. I was obsessed with, among other things, astronomy, Japanese culture, and sitar music. I…I don't know, either. These were not interests that began in school, but my teacher, Mr. Barry, did try to cultivate at least one of them.
I developed this brilliant idea for a special astronomy project: somehow I was going to create a constellation projector with a refrigerator box. One of my classmates joined me for this project, and Mr. Barry got us a refrigerator box and let us plan out our brilliant scheme in the hallway, just the two of us and… the box. I felt like this went on for weeks but it was probably only a few days. All we did was sit inside the box and giggle. Mr. Barry tried to get us to organize our thoughts, but it turned out we really wanted to giggle. Our special project got scrapped, and I had to join the Regular People in the classroom. I was none too pleased about that, having quickly decided that I was special and required hallway projects.
Behold the arrogance! And the eyebrows!
I was extremely concerned about Mr. Barry. Since I was already shaping up to be something of a nervous mess, this year marks the beginning of my proud tradition of projecting my feelings onto other people. I thought Mr. Barry was under a lot of stress. He seemed really worried all the time, not that I could say how, but I knew it. I saw him pumping gas at the local station, which is when I first learned that teachers are not paid enough. My worry increased.
As for me, my grandmother died after a terrible battle with cancer, my mom (and the rest of my family) was devastated, and I was peeing myself quite a bit because, it turned out, in addition to being too shy to ask to go to the bathroom, I was getting bladder infections--which were caused by a narrow urethra, which ended up requiring surgery. Also my sister was leaving for college and I pretty much cried all the time? But oh, Mr. Barry was the one who needed my help.
In addition to my many woes, I was not getting any better at posing.
Boy, that was a shitty year. Mr. Barry was one of the bright spots in that year. He was the first teacher I had who I remember laughing at my jokes and the stuff I wrote that was trying to be funny. He was an excellent teacher and he had to pump gas. Goddammit.
I don't have a picture of Mr. Barry but in my imagination he resembled John Denver. I still can't watch "Oh, God!" without getting emotional. You'd think I wouldn't have many opportunities to watch "Oh, God!" but you would be WRONG. Or, okay, right.
What do you guys remember about second grade? Please share with the class.
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Reader Comments (52)
My teacher was Mrs. Watzmann. I learned that year that homework was not, in fact, optional. I missed out on a lot of stars on the chart because of that.
I had a pair of awesome lilac purple culottes that I loved. That was also the year of unfortunate hair. My grandmother had gotten me a (bad) pixie cut in first grade, and by second grade it had grown out in the worst possible way--a mullet. There is photographic evidence.
I also stepped on a thumbtack in my stocking feet on Halloween, and I was sure that Halloween was going to be ruined and I wouldn't be able to do any trick-or-treating because of my injury. I was fine.
Mrs. Baker was my 2nd grade teacher, she was tiny and sweet and blonde and grandmotherly. She was extremely patient with everyone and still read books to us even though we could read already. I thought that was awfully nice of her.
Anyhow, it was already becoming apparent to me that Math and I were not going to be friends and I was panicking every time we had a math lesson. Also, for some reason it was the same year I caught every type of upper respiratory infection ever devised. I got bronchitis, pleurisy, pneumonia and countless colds all in the same winter. So I started missing lots of school, which made me further behind in math, which made me panic even more.
One time when I had just gotten back to school from another week long bout with illness I fell asleep during a film-strip she played us right after lunch. She didn't wake me up from my spot on the floor right in front of the projection screen till it was time to go home. I had slept through math! I went up to her crying about it and she put her arms around me and said, "Honey, you've been sick. I know you need your rest. We will GET to the math, but you are more important to me." And now, I can do math, but even better I know to give myself REAL time and REAL permission to get better when I am sick. I will get to the _________ (PTO meeting, dentist, housework, church etc) when I get to it. My health is important. The people that love me will understand. Valuable lesson for a seven year old.
Thanks Mrs. Baker.
My teacher was Miriam Firestone. She had been my brother's third grade teacher, and she used the exact same curriculum for my 2nd grade as she had for 3rd. Which meant every month, I had four book reports to do. My mother, a teacher herself, didn't like this, so maybe half of those book reports were just the same ones my brother had done, rewritten in my handwriting. I've still never read Flicka. What I remember most about second grade was that it was the first year there were elections. Each month a new president, vp, secretary and treasurer were elected in our class. Ten months of school, FORTY opportunities, and not once did I get chosen. It still makes my heart sink today to think about it.
You had much, MUCH better hair in second grade than I did. Good job.
Loved this! And my eyebrows looked just like yours, but apparently I'm still oblivious because I wouldn't have thought anything about your eyebrows. They look like perfectly nice children's eyebrows to me! Second grade for me was my first mean teacher. Ms. Lee was the head teacher. She was an old, ancient, nice black woman who unfortunately was tired a lot. She ended up letting her assistant teacher run all over her and us. Ms Gardner was an aggressive, unloving, snippy tall white woman who refused to pronounce my name correctly. "I'll call you Son-juh because that's how your parents spelled your name, and if they didn't know any better, then too bad." When my mother Maja, (pronounced My-yuh) went to tell her at the first parent teacher meeting that my name was pronounced Son-yuh, she told her the exact same thing. I think that's the first time I realized that my mother didn't always have the final say in the outside world. I can remember learning about the abacus, wanting to keep my new math workbook perfect, my sticker collection and being obsessed with the pictures of a mermaid book that we had in the classroom. I can also remember this being the first time I cheated on a quiz. It was a very elaborate rouse and I'll spare you the details. One day I told Ms. Gardner I didn't feel good and she refused to let me go see the school nurse. She told me that I'd be going home soon enough and to just last down in the back of the classroom. I can remember laying down and realizing I was in a popular spot where we liked to rub our pencil erasers in the carpet to clean them, but I felt too listless to move. I can still smell that hot smell! I laid on the floor all day and when I finally got home my mother took one look at me and realized I had the chicken pox! It was pretty obvious. I was covered in spots! She ran outside carrying me topless to show my Dad. I can remember he was tilling the garden and I was mortified because the boy next door rode his bike over to see what all the fuss was about! I have the memory of an elephant, and could go on and on, but I'll just keep it to mean ole Ms. Gardner. Thanks for the trip down memory lane!
My second grade teacher was Mrs. Kennedy, and she was hilarious! She walked (stomped) on the desks to teach us how to count money, while we all cheered: "25! 50! 75! a dollar!" However, she would not let me read during math lessons, not even secretly. When she read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to us, she showed us how to remember Augustus Gloop's name by rhyming: "Nincompoop! Augustus Gloop!" It was a pretty fun year.
My sister was born that spring, and I got to take her to school as show-in-tell. (Well, my mom brought her to show her off, since my mom was also a second grade teacher at my school). Best show-in-tell ever! Later on, I too left my sister to go to college (she was ten), and that was not easy :(
Alice, I have to make an observation here (not sure if it has been made yet)...I noticed that you do not remember your kindergarten teacher's name...you did not like that teacher and thus erased the name from memory, but you sure do remember a lot about your 1st and 2nd grade teachers because they were so special to you.
Anywho...
Second grade was the year I transferred to the Gifted school. Apparently, they noticed I was too bored in my regular school, and thus getting into trouble because I was finished with things much faster than most of my peers. I remember them taking me and a few others to a room and giving us a test and then my mom telling me that I'd be transferring (across the City!) to another school. I arrived in the middle of the year. All the other students had already learned how to read music and study Latin and switch classes several times a day, so it was a LOT of catch up for me, but I remained there until 8th grade graduation and it was a wonderful (free) opportunity to have been able to take part in.
Second Grade: Mrs. Reece was my teacher, a young woman in maybe her second year of teaching. I distinctly remember thinking that she lacked experience with children, and that perhaps you should not be allowed to teach if you did not have any children of your own. I got glasses that year, but forgot them the day we watched Charlotte's Web. How disappointing to have finally finished listening to the teacher read the book to us and then not be able to actually see the movie. Second grade also brought chicken pox, around Easter because I remember laying on the couch watching Charlton Heston part the Red Sea as Moses...a little bit of such a long movie on every night for a week! Mrs. Reece thought about coming to my house to administer the required "Achievement Tests" that I was missing during my chicken pox convalescence, but she couldn't because she was pregnant. I had to make up the tests during recesses after I returned to school, and I remember feeling glad that she was going to have a baby and perhaps develop some empathy toward children. I am sure she was a fine person but I obviously thought her too strict or uncaring? I was kind of a goody-two-shoes, follow all the rules sort of kid so I don't know what she did to make me so annoyed!
Miss Brown, very nice lady. I sat by John Henry Cobb. One day we had a substitute teacher, and when she gave the spelling test, John Henry and I decided to really SHOW HER! By purposely spelling all of our words wrong!!! Hahahahahahaha!!! Oh my. We really tripped her up, I'm sure. And flunked our spelling tests. We were a fount of genius.
My second grade teacher was Mrs. Hodges. She still teaches at the elementary school in my small hometown, and I often run into her when I'm visiting my folks (as happens with many of my grade school teachers). I remember three things distictly about that school year. The first was Mrs. Hodges jerking my thumb out my mouth when I would try to discreetly suck it during quiet time. Second was when we were learning about family trees and everyone was supposed to name one family member outside of hs immediate family. I answered that I had an uncle named Jack. Mrs. Hodges informed me that Jack was actually my great uncle since he was my grandmother's brother-in-law (again--super small town--everyone knows everyone). I was completely baffled as to how she knew this information about my family (and I felt really stupid that my answer wasn't correct). The third--we were all in the hallway for a water fountain break, and the teacher assigned one of the students to "be in charge" of the classroom as the kids came back in from the hallway, which meant he would write your name on the board if you were talking or breaking any other rules. I happened to be singing a little song to myself when I walked back in the classroom, and he wrote my name on the board. Butt munch.
My teacher was Mr. Bell. I remember he used to read a poem to us that I really liked about going to sleep. I also remember that he called those of us girls who were in brownies "greenies". Weird, right?
"We will GET to the math, but you are more important to me." <-- That is an amazing thing.
My parents separated right before I started first grade, and we moved to my grandmother's house (12 hours away) and then back home after first grade and then to my grandmother's house again halfway through third grade. I don't remember much about school during that time. I think my second-grade teacher's name was Mrs. Opal. She wore very thick glasses, and she was terrifying.
Why can't I remember 2nd grade? I remember bits and pieces of kindergarten, but then my memory skips to 4th. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? I've tried for years to get those missing grades to reemerge, but they remain embedded in my brain. I have convinced myself that I've blocked those years out due to some horrific CNN cover story worthy experience. What's interesting is that there are plenty of photos. None is familiar; none triggers a memory.
And I love your 2nd grade hair.
In Mrs. Dickinson's second grade class at Columbia Heights School in Wheatridge, Colorado in 1951-52 I misspelled one word in an entire year of spelling tests. The word? Into. I spelled it 'itno'. Dream of perfection destroyed.
My second grade year started with Mrs. Zimmerman, who was not very nice to us. She left half way through the school year (my 7-year-old mind decided it was becuase she didn't like us) and was replaced by Miss Susser.
Miss Susser was a breath of fresh air until she started playing favorites. She always picked Tracy Johnson as the Student of the Week. There were lots of good kids in our class (uhhh, like ME) but when in doubt, the little certificate covered in fancy stickers always went to Tracy. To say I was so jealous of her consistent accolades by Miss Susser would be an extreme exaggeration. I became single-minded about getting that award.
I did everything I could to gain that woman's attention. I was nice to everyone in class. I know, ... you're always supposed to be nice to everyone but some kids were a little weird in my book. Anyway, the day I got the Student of the Week award was the proudest day of my second grade life.
Take THAT Tracy Johnson!
My teacher was Mrs. Dwyer. She had short gray hair and a lot of energy, but the only solid memory of her is her miming for me to wipe my nose as we all recited the pledge of allegiance. I had a very runny nose.
Oh, Alice, why can't women marry other women?
oh, wait are you in NY, then well, yes. we can.
I'll take the tux, you take the ivory. You'd look better in it.
LOVE THIS SERIES.
I hated spelling tests so much in second grade that I would fake being sick on Friday afternoons in order to go home and avoid the test. Actually, I hated them so much I would give myself a headache. My first stress headache! (new from the makers of my first anxiety attack!) I would then have to make it up on Monday which would ruin Sunday night studying for them. All that worry and for what? To be fair, we didn't know how much spell-check would make actually knowing how to spell obsolete.
Oh second grade. Ms. Walker was my teacher, and I honestly don't remember a whole lot about her, other than she was pretty standoffish.
I had my tonsils removed in 2nd grade and missed a couple (few?) weeks of school. One day, while recuperating, I received cards from every student in the class. Mark was convinced I was dying. Monique wrote something to the effect of "you're my best friend. We don't have to play with Angelique at recess." (monique was showing her true colors even in 2nd grade! You would have thought I would catch on and spare myself some pain later in high school.) I still have all those cards.
I remember vividly Jeff bringing in a dead squirrel he had found, for show and tell. It was awesome. I don't think I've ever seen a teacher move soooo fast to hide somethihng. The boys were all "COOOOL!" and the girls were saying "ewwwww" (but really inside I was going COOOOL!)
Oh, second grade reeked of scandal! I went to a small catholic school in Connecticut where everyone did just exactly what was expected. My teacher's name was Mrs. Buela and she was about 60 years old (to me. she was probably 22). She returned from a vacation after Easter break with CORN ROWS, like Bo Derek in 10. We were aghast, amazed, appalled, attracted, and mostly stunned.
Oh shit, you know what? I think that was 5th grade. I had Mrs. Carpenter for second grade. Yawn. Let's just pretend, ok?
Second grade, wow. My teacher was Mrs. Drumheller, but I couldn't pick her out of a line up today. What happened to me during the second grade was life changing. My mom gave up custody of my brother and I, put us on a plane to CA (from CT) on Nov. 1st and sent me to live with my dad and his very unhappy-to-have-us second wife. Neurosis/depression/anxiety all has their roots right there in the second grade. So other than a stupid poem about the color pink that was saved, I remember nothing about the school part of second grade.
I started 2nd grade (1976) in a new school. We had moved from Big City to tiny town, and everyone knew each other so I felt really left out. Plus I was (still am) very shy and introverted. It is really amazing how long you are the new kid in a tiny town. My clothes were all wrong--my grandmother had made me dresses but everyone wore jeans so I had to beg my mother to get me some. The teacher wrote on my report card that I talked too much (to other kids) in class, and my parents, who are both teachers, were really angry. Really I was just desperately trying to fit in and so I whispered back to the cool girls. We held a mock election (Carter vs. Ford) and although my parents were Democrats, I "voted" for Ford because that was what the kids I thought I wanted to fit in with did. I cried a lot, too; I don't think my parents noticed how miserable I was. Ugh, that was a hard year. Third grade got a little better.
Second grade was Miss Thomas, my favorite teacher ever in the history of mankind. She was just...a gentle soul. I wish I had better anecdotes about her, but she was lovely. After I graduated college, my parents went to an outdoor concert in my hometown, and saw her there. Or, I should clarify, she approached them and asked how I was doing. Fifteen years after she ever had me in her classroom.
I need to track her down and send her a card or something.
OK, second grade (approx 1973-74). Hmmm. Miss Bamel (I'm not sure that's how it's spelled!). Other than the fact that she was the youngest teacher I ever had (it was her first job as a teacher, something that concerned my mom, as I recall), I don't have too many classroom memories. I guess it went just fine.
Boooring!
I'm loving this series! For me, 2nd grade was great until the day I took off my sweatshirt (teal with white, fake but attached polo shirt collar) because I was getting hot in class. I accidentally took off the t-shirt underneath as well and somehow didn't notice this. What seemed like eons later, I started to get cold and had this horrible realization that I been sitting in class without a shirt on quietly doing my workbook pages. I hid under my desk trying to get the two shirts back on but couldn't manage to untangle them in my fit of embarrassment. I ended up walking around the rest of the day with them inside out and the t-shirt on top. Yay for 2nd grade!
My teacher was cool. She was only 21 and she played the guitar and she used to eat oranges peel and all. She taught us to sing songs from Jesus Christ Superstar. I still remember all the words to "red and yellow and purple and green and ochre and gold and ... blah blah blah AND BLUE!" (well, okay, most of them). I have no idea what else we did that year, but isn't that enough?